"Well, we appreciate it very much," Corinne said.
She and Hunter had been able to wash out most of the bloodstains from the fatigues he'd worn to Henry Vachon's, but while the clothes were tumbling in Amelie's dryer, Hunter had been forced to borrow a sweatshirt and snap-sided track pants. To say that any of the clothes fit him was a stretch, Corinne thought, smiling to herself when she pictured him in the brightly colored sports-team shirt and shiny nylon slacks.
While she and Amelie enjoyed their dinner and the pleasant music drifting in from the other room, Hunter was in the guest bedroom talking with Gideon and using Amelie's son's computer. He'd gone back to the box truck a short while ago and brought in more of Dragos's laboratory records from the metal safe Vachon had been keeping in storage. Some of those records had been computer files, encrypted data, kept on several finger-size portable devices that Hunter was currently transferring to the Order's headquarters in Boston. Corinne prayed there would be something useful in the records. As incredible as her time alone with Hunter had been, a heaviness lurked in her heart. She'd hoped desperately that her blood would have surrendered even a small clue about her son and where she might find him. But Hunter's talent had given them nothing to go on. Nothing except his awareness of all the degradation and defilement she'd been subjected to at her captor's hands. Although he knew it all now, he didn't coddle her or make her feel somehow less a woman for the way she'd been treated while trapped inside Dragos's prison lab. She'd felt dirty, ashamed of the things they'd done to her. She'd felt herself powerless, a coward for having let them take her child away.
Once she had been freed, she'd felt immense guilt that she'd survived when so many others imprisoned and tortured alongside her had not. They'd had sons stolen from them too. Children they would have loved, if not for Dragos's evil. Right now, among the Breedmates taken in by Andreas and Claire Reichen back in New England, there were mothers who were mourning lost sons, nursing the same festering emotional wounds that she was. As Corinne quietly ate her dinner, she felt a pang of selfishness for the need that spurred her to seek her own child above the rest. Slim as her hope of finding him seemed, even if she failed completely, perhaps her personal quest would also open the chance for other newly freed captives to search for their own stolen sons.
Even as she thought it, Hunter's words of warning came back to her, dark and ominous: We were never boys, none of us...
If your son lives, he will be a Hunter, like me ... fully trained ... experienced in dealing death.
Your son is gone. He was gone the instant Dragos took him out of your arms. No, she told herself. There was still hope.
Hunter himself was proof of that. He had managed to break from the brutal doctrine Dragos imposed on him. He was given a chance to be something more, something better. That's all she wanted for her son. That's all any of the other Breedmates would want for their sons. Perhaps if they could save Nathan, there might be hope for more stolen lives too. Corinne held on to that hope as she finished eating the wonderful meal that Amelie had prepared.
"Everything was very good," she said, her taste buds still tingling from the peppers and spices and fresh, savory flavors. "I've never had catfish or dirty rice before. I've never had corn bread either. It's all delicious."
"Ohh, child." Amelie gave a slow shake of her head, her tone implying both shock and sympathy. "You truly have not lived, have you?"
"Maybe not." Because the woman was blind, she didn't see Corinne's wistful smile as she answered. She was glad for the privacy of her thoughts as she gathered some of the empty plates from the table. When Amelie got up to help, Corinne gently placed her hand on the woman's shoulder. "Please, sit. Let me take care of cleaning up, at least."
With a sigh that seemed equal parts resignation and contentment, Amelie sat back down in her chair at the table while Corinne cleared the rest of the dishes and flatware and started a basin full of hot, soapy water at the sink.
As she set the dishes into the suds, Corinne couldn't help feeling that the food had tasted more flavorful, the soft jazz music in the other room sounded more soothing - everything around her seemed brighter, more vivid and potent - after the pleasurable hours she'd spent in Hunter's arms. She wondered what it might be like to feel this way all the time. Was this what it was like for mated pairs within the Breed?
Was the intense warmth blooming in the center of her being simply a reaction to the physical comfort Hunter had given her, or something more?
She didn't want to let him into her heart. God help her, but for a very long time, she hadn't considered there could ever be room for anyone except the child she'd been forced to surrender. But when she thought about Hunter's kindness toward her, when she considered all that they'd been through together in the past few days, she could not deny that he meant something to her. Something much more than the warrior she'd initially distrusted - even feared - and now looked to as her closest ally.
Her unexpected friend and, now, her lover.
The formidable Breed male who had bonded himself to her inexorably, if for no other reason than she'd begged him to.
It was a sacred gift, and he'd given it to her for use as a tool in her personal quest. He'd given her the most priceless, intimate thing he had, with hardly the slightest hesitation. She felt Hunter's presence stir the air behind her now, yet the low rumble of his voice still made her pulse kick when he spoke. "All the memory card data has been sent to Gideon. I've also scanned the relevant paper files, in case any of it proves useful."
Corinne dried her hands on a towel, then pivoted to face him. "What did he think?" she asked, not at all reassured by his grim tone. He was holding back somehow, his face neutral. Unreadable. When she'd first met him, that schooled look had unnerved her, made her curious; now it simply worried her. "Did any of it mean anything to Gideon?"
"He will let us know." Hunter crossed his bulky arms across the large SAINTS lettering emblazoned on the tight black-and-gold sweatshirt. The sleeves barely reached halfway down his forearms, and now the fabric stretched even tighter across his broad shoulders. "The situation at the compound is not ideal at the moment. But Gideon has said he'll get back to us as soon as possible if his analysis yields anything promising."
"Okay," Corinne replied, telling herself it was a start. She had little left to lose when it came right down to it.
Nathan was still out of her reach, despite the blood memories Hunter had read for her. The lab records they'd found in Henry Vachon's storage unit were all they had to go on now -
those, and Gideon's considerable technological skills. She had placed her trust in Hunter, and he in turn had placed his own in the Order. Corinne had to believe that if there was a solution, she would find it so long as she had Hunter on her side.
The hard part now would be the waiting.
She blew out a small sigh. "Okay," she said again, giving a resolute nod as though to convince herself it was all going to work out in the end.
As she turned back to the sink to finish washing the dishes, Amelie piped up from her seat at the table. "Everything all right back up in Boston with my sister and her man?"
"Yes, ma'am," Hunter replied. "Savannah and Gideon are both well."
"That's good," she said. "Those two deserve their happiness more than most anyone I know. I suspect you and Corinne do too."
Mortified at the turn in the conversation, Corinne kept her head down, scrubbing at a stubborn bit of dried rice that clung to one of the plates. She tried to concentrate on the music playing quietly over the stereo - a tune she immediately recognized - casting about for anything to focus on but the gaping silence that seemed to emanate from Hunter's direction. She rinsed the suds off the plate and set it into the wire drainer on the counter, feeling her skin prickle with a current of awareness that rippled in the air behind her. It drew closer, and when she glanced to her right, she found Hunter standing beside her, a red-and-white checkered dish towel in his large hands.
Corinne couldn't take his silence, or the meaningful look he fixed on her as he stood there, letting Amelie's assumption hang between them like a question.